My blog has been under construction for over a year as I’ve been working to reset my heart and soul. I needed some time of silent reflection, and in many ways still do. But so many of you dear people have been asking me about Lilah’s birth story, so I’ve decided to share it here.

I used to find new mamas to be a little obnoxious-sharing their birth stories, posting a zillion pictures of their babes on social media, complaining about how nothing fits anymore. And yet here I am, wearing 1 of 5 pairs of oversized pants I wear in rotation, taking yet another picture of my little girl for instagram, and writing about my birth story! Who am I? But it’s true that once you become a mom your perspective really does change. The entire act of bringing an itty bitty human being into the world is humbling and amazing.

September 28th, my due date. No Lilah Grace. I had yet another doctor’s appointment. I was 4cm dilated and yet no sign of a baby. Going over your due date is like some special kind of torture. It is completely depressing. By 39 weeks you’ve been trapped inside your own body for long enough, your stomach hangs out of pretty much every shirt you own, and forget about tying your shoes.

DISCLAIMER: I had an annoyingly good birth experience and some of you may want to punch me as you’re reading this, so be prepared.

On Saturday September 30th I woke up at 4am with a new kind of discomfort, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up. But by 6am it was clear that I was in labor. I woke Eric up so he could help me get into the shower (because that’s what the birth class taught us), but having a contraction while standing in a slippery shower totally sucks, so back to bed I went. I called my doctor around 7:30 with contractions 3 in a row, every ten minutes. It was a weird pattern and he felt that I should wait to go to the hospital. But my body doesn’t really ever do anything conventionally, so around 8:30am we started preparing to go to the hospital anyway. I was afraid they were going to send me home, so I would scream “WE HAVE TO GO NOW” during a contraction and then sit on the couch and suggest we wait a few more minutes. Finally, when I was sure I was going to die, we decided to go. We arrived around 9:30am at the local hospital. It took us a good chunk of time to even get to labor and delivery because I insisted on walking, but had to stop every 2 minutes or so as my contractions got closer together. People passing in wheelchairs and rolling hospital beds looked at me with pity as I groaned my way down the halls.

When we made it into the initial exam room, the nurse began asking me questions about the kind of care I wanted, etc. I think I would have said yes to selling my child to her at this point, I was in no state to be in a conversation. The initial exam showed that I was 5-6cm dilated. My goal had always been to wait until 7-8cm for an epidural. Knowing how my body doesn’t follow the rules, and that it might take the anesthesiologist a while to get to my room, I elected to call him right away. No sooner were we up in my delivery room, he arrived. I was at 7-8cm.

It’s funny how much you don’t care about your own disgustingness during labor. I mean, it crossed my mind when I was sitting with my butt out towards the doctor, but he has the drugs so you get over it. After 3 minutes of complete and total hell, the epidural was in. By this point I was 9 1/2 cm dilated, it was 11:30am. Within another half hour, I was 10cm dilated (see, I told you it was annoying). However, my water had not yet broken, and I still needed antibiotics since I was strep B positive. So they started my IV and told me to hang tight…UM K? At this point my blood pressure started to drop and so did the baby’s, so in they came with an oxygen mask and some medication, speaking in doctor lingo. i remember tearing up a little bit, looking at those nurses hovering over me. I’ve never quite liked being a patient, and dislike even more not knowing what’s going on. But they were able to stabilize us and all was well. The transitional shakes started to set in. Eric said it looked like I was freezing cold, and was hard for him to watch.

For the next few hours we watched Home Alone 2 and waited.

2:30pm, my water breaks.

4:00pm, I begin to feel the urge to push.

4:30pm, In comes a midwife and off we go! I remember saying to myself “it’s just like a long run, just keep going”. I can’t even remember how many times I pushed. I had requested a mirror and so not only did I watch my baby girl’s head begin to crown, but I saw myself from a totally new and horrifying angle. Anyway, eventually she was close to being born and so I no longer was paying attention to the mirror and was pushing with all my might to bring this little thing into the world. And then at 5:18pm, out she came. Our little Lilah Grace. I wasn’t overcome with emotion like so many people say-I was kind of in shock. I remember thinking “what just happened?” “did that just come out of me?” “oh my gosh she looks exactly like Eric”. I couldn’t believe that she was mine.

When they put her up on my chest, I noticed how blue she was, and when her little body wasn’t pinking up, they took her to the table in the corner to examine her further. I watched as they put a little mask on her face. I felt uneasy, scared, sad that I wasn’t holding my baby. But I kept repeating to myself, as I have the entire 6 weeks she’s been alive, “she is a gift, not yours but God’s. have faith. deep breaths”. As the midwife stitched me up, I watched as a series of NICU doctors came in to inspect my baby. it was decided that she needed some help breathing and so off she went down the hall to the NICU.

A few hours later after I was fed and cleaned up and sewn together, Eric and I went to the NICU to see her. I had been there many times before, not as a mom, but as a social worker. It is a hard place to be. So many little lives fighting. So many mamas and daddys overwhelmed with sadness and fear. As they wheeled me over to my little girl, I was so humbled. So humbled that my little girl was okay. That she was born full term, healthily plump, and that she would be leaving the NICU in just a few hours to be reunited with us up in our hospital room. My heart ached for the mamas who would spend months visiting their babies in this sterile room, and ached even more for those who would never bring their babies home.

When the wheeled her into our hospital room a few hours later, I felt like I was really seeing her and holding her for the first time. Studying her little features, watching her chest rise and fall. This was the baby I had carried all this time. The little girl I had prayed over, sang to, talked to in the car on my way to work. Finally here she was.

So far on this mama journey that I have just begun, I am realizing that I will never survive raising my daughter if I cannot rest in the truth that God is in control and I am not. That no matter what may happen in this lifetime, no matter how much time I am given with my sweet baby girl, that God is good. I am doing all that I can to cling to that and to rest in peace and joy.